


the beautiful gifts

by LieutenantSaavik



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Pre-Slash, Sappho References, africa by toto references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 16:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/pseuds/LieutenantSaavik
Summary: How did Lieutenant Nyota Uhura and Head Nurse Christine Chapel become friends? Flirting with flowers, of course.





	the beautiful gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLlamas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/gifts).



> This is set not too long after Uhura and Chapel formally meet. Title is from a Sappho poem; the full line is often translated as "Pursue the beautiful gifts of the violet Muses."
> 
> Written for the Star Trek femslash big bang 2018!

"Actually, my favorite flowers are the violets,” Nyota says casually, a tiny smile at the corner of her lip. “They have a bit of a history.”

“I see,” says Christine, tweaking a leaf on one of Sulu’s gardenias. It’s not news that Lieutenant Uhura likes girls. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe Sulu has any of those.”

“No,” Nyota concurs, “No. They’re not exactly cultivation material. I think they grow best wild.”

Her voice is bright and smooth, but Christine detects a note of sadness hovering beneath her tone. “You miss home,” she guesses, and Nyota turns sharply.

“What makes you say that?”

“I pick up on subtle signs. I’m a nurse, Lieutenant--”

“Oh,” Nyota interrupts, “Are we going for ranks?”

“You don’t appreciate them?”

Nyota blinks, then smiles softly. “Not when I’m off-duty. Just call me Nyota; I call you Christine.”

“Sorry.”

Nyota senses her sudden awkwardness and lays a hand on Christine’s arm. “You don’t have to apologise for it.” And, nonchalantly, “I’d pick you a flower if Sulu wouldn’t skewer me with his épée for it.” She pauses again and removes her hand to lightly twist a blueish stem. “But yes. I do miss home.”

“I always notice when people are sad,” Christine reflects. “That’s one reason I wanted to become a nurse. I can always seem to detect who’s in love, who’s jealous, who’s secretly suffering.” She looks at her hands. “I wanted to help the people who weren’t inclined to seek help for themselves. I was one of them, once.”

Nyota waits for her to continue. When the elaboration doesn’t come, she nods. “You’re not sad now, are you?”

Christine shakes her head, perhaps too quickly. Nyota scans her face for signs of grief and finds none visible. “No, not particularly,” the nurse replies easily, “But it’s hard to make a place like the _Enterprise_ home.”

Nyota mulls over the words, then nods again. “For me it’s the opposite, in a way. I sometimes forget we’re not on Earth. The artificial gravity is perfect, and you don’t see anyone but humans, except for Mr. Spock. But then I glance out a window, half-expecting to see trees, and--”

“And you just see blackness.”

“I was going to say ‘I just see stars’.”

Christine shrugs. “That too.”

“If you don’t like space, why did you join Starfleet?”

“Well, I love my job.”

Nyota senses her evasion. “You could have practiced medicine on Earth.”

Christine draws her mouth into a thin line. “I lost my fianceé to space.”

Nyota draws her hand to her mouth. Her eyes meet Christine’s, shocked. “I’m so sorry.”

“He’s not dead. He’s missing.” Christine grimaces at the floor, eyes unfocusing and blurring the tops of her shoes. “I think that’s worse. I joined Starfleet because--I don’t know if--I sometimes hope we’ll land on some planet, board some ship, and he’ll be _there_ \--” She looks up abruptly, forces a painful semblance of a smile to her lips. “Excuse me. I don’t know why I just unloaded all of this on you.”

Nyota shakes her head, her eyes wide. “It’s no trouble--”

“No, it is,” Christine pulls away from her and holds up a hand, “It’s unprofessional. I should be doling out medicine, not tragic backstories.”

“Hey.” Nyota takes hold of the hand and warms it between her own. “Hey. I’m not your patient; I’m your friend. Will you allow me to be that?”

Christine blinks away the sudden threat of tears, gazing up at the soft magenta light playing across the greenhouse ceiling. She’s only just met this woman, but she’s witty, she’s beautiful, and she’s so, so _kind_ \-- “Of course.”

“Good. Because we all love you, aboard this ship. You hold us together as much as Captain Kirk does, as much as Dr. McCoy does. You must know that.”

“You’re sweet.” The two words are low, carried on tight, sad breaths. “But you barely know me--”

“I know you well enough to know that people like you make Starfleet great.”

Christine’s thoughts stop. “What?”

“Remember when I was on Shore Leave and I got that gash all down my leg, but McCoy was busy tending to the Captain and didn’t even notice that I was limping when I stepped off the transporter pad? You saw immediately, and you helped me all the way to sickbay, and you spoke to me at every step, telling me it would be alright, that in just three minutes the pain would stop, that I could cry onto your shoulder if I needed to. Then you healed me so well that, in the morning, I forgot which leg I had even cut.”

“Oh, god.” Something that can only be classified as a bray bursts out of Christine’s throat. “That was _you_!”

“It was me! You must get a lot of cases like mine.”

“No, no, I remembered that one--you asked for--”

“Don’t say it!”

“No, it’s hilarious! You asked if I could play music from the--the 1960s?”

“The 1980s.”

“You asked me if I could play music from the 1980s in the Sickbay and then, as soon as I’d stitched you up--”

“As soon as you left the room to get another hypospray--”

“You got up against my orders and started--”

“Trying to dance--”

“And that’s how--”

“I reopened the cut--”

“Just _minutes_ after I’d closed it--”

Nyota dissolves into giggles, dropping her face into her hands. “That was, without a doubt, the most mortifying experience I’ve ever had aboard this ship.”

“It made my day. Honestly, Nyota, it made my day. I never even told Bones about it; it was too good.”

“It’s not my fault Africa by Toto is so catchy,” Nyota grumbles. “I mean, it could have happened to _anyone_. But please.” She holds out her hand for Christine to shake. “Consider this, not that, my first impression. Pleased to make your acquaintance--no, pleased to make your _friendship_ , Nurse Chapel.”

“And I,” Christine replies gladly, taking Nyota’s hand again, “Am pleased to make yours.”


End file.
